Fake Empire(15)

I thought Crew would be easy to ignore—to control. I also knew we’d have a physical relationship. Novelty, at first. For kids, later. It’s a prospect that’s become increasingly desirable—and demeaning. I won’t beg him. I refuse to. I’d rather knock myself up with a turkey baster.

All through dinner, I steal glances at the new addition to my left hand. Arthur Kensington spared a long stare at the diamond ring when I reappeared earlier. A look laced with sadness and longing and sentimentality.

Crew gave me his mother’s ring.

I don’t know why the possibility didn’t occur to me until I saw Arthur’s expression, but it didn’t. Elizabeth Kensington passed away when Crew was five. I wonder how differently the three men she left behind might look today if she hadn’t died so young. Would Arthur be as robotic? Oliver as desperate? Crew as callous?

“I’d love some more wine.” I interrupt the love fest across the table.

The server startles, finally remembering there are other people in the room. She grabs my glass and scurries off.

Crew’s unsettling gaze rests on me for the entire two minutes it takes for her to refill it and return. I don’t look away. Our eye contact feels like a chess match, with no pieces to play and no obvious victory.

I don’t know what he wants from me. I figured the simple act of marrying him would be where it started and ended. Until we have kids, nothing else needs to change. He’ll work. I’ll work. Our lives will look like a Venn diagram, with some overlap, but not much.

That moment in the library didn’t feel like a neat separation though. It felt like a raging inferno that would incinerate lines, not just blur them. I doused it…temporarily. The embers flicker at me from across the table.

As soon as dessert has been cleared, we end up in the soaring entryway, trading goodbyes. My father is in a short mood. Like Crew said, he and I are a done deal. Hanson Ellsworth doesn’t spend time chasing those. This evening was a courtesy, an invitation it would have been too rude to refuse.

I get nodded farewells from Arthur and Oliver and a hug from Candace. I wonder if she can tell I’m so tense I could snap in two. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain indifferent about my upcoming nuptials. For years, I’ve told myself it’s nothing more than a contract. A business deal. A blending of assets.

With Oliver—with anyone else—it would be.

With Crew, it’s different.

My heart hammers when he approaches me. Stops when his thumb catches and rubs against the diamond resting on my left hand. “It looks good on you, sweetheart,” he whispers, before his lips graze my cheek. The mocking edge to the words destroys any genuine intent.

There’s a huge family portrait hanging in the center of the marble staircase, just above the split in the steps. It’s of the original Kensington family: Arthur, Elizabeth, Oliver, and Crew. My eyes settle on Elizabeth’s left hand, resting on a much younger Crew’s shoulder. The diamond on her hand is an exact replica of the diamond on mine.

“Thank you,” I manage.

Crew’s eyes follow my gaze and flick to the portrait as well, his jaw tightening with realization.

Does he regret giving it to me?

Is he worried I’ll think it means something it doesn’t?

Was he simply too lazy to go buy me a new one?

Rather than ask for answers to any of those questions, I follow my parents out of the marble foyer and into the crisp spring air.

My mom is talking to me as we walk toward the fountain where our cars are parked. I nod along to whatever she’s saying. Something about a dress fitting? I’ll get a couple dozen texts reminding me of whatever it is, no doubt.

I thought I’d take more of an interest in my wedding when the time arrived. Barring some catastrophic event, it’s the only one I’ll ever have. I used to think any apathy toward the event would stem from a lack of significance. That the indifference I felt toward the groom would seep outward and color everything else. Instead, I’m terrified of the opposite. Nervous that caring what white dress I wear or how many tiers the cake is or which flowers are in my bouquet might reveal I care about him.

My parents depart first, my father’s omnipresent impatience a hasty urge. I linger in the driveway for a few more minutes, looking up at the stone façade of the Kensington manor. Stiff and hard and unreadable—just like its inhabitants. Just like the world I grew up in, the world I’m stuck in.

I have a say here, but not enough of one. Not enough to stop this from happening. I’m expecting the swell of rebellion in my stomach. I’m stubborn, and it’s a trait I encourage rather than tamp. But the rebellion doesn’t drown out the pinprick of relief.

I don’t want Crew to marry someone else. I don’t want to marry someone else. Then, I’ll never know which of us will break first.

We’re getting married. It’s a done deal.

His words echo in my head, even when he’s nowhere in sight. With a sigh, I climb into the car and instruct my driver to take me back to the office.

I spend the whole drive staring at the ring on my hand. Replaying the words that were spoken—and the words that weren’t—after I put it on for the first time. I’ll never be able to shake that moment. Not as long as I’m wearing this ring.

Forever is a long time.

No shit.